Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes
by sherlollymouse
Summary: I'm sure this has been done, but I've had this obsession with Molly and Sherlock fighting lately, and I thought adding this mirroring would make it interesting.


"Why's he so late?" Greg Lestrade asked pouring himself a drink in the Baker Street flat.

"He said he had some things to finish at St. Barts first, but he's on his way." John planted himself on the couch next to his wife and sleeping infant daughter. As if on cue, the doors to the building flew open and loud shouting could be heard in the corridor.

"For christ sakes, Molly!" Sherlock's baritone shook the walls.

"No, you listen here, William Sherlock Scott Holmes…"

"Stop calling me that!"

"I'll call you whatever I want, you twat! Now, move!" The pair stomped up the stairs, still arguing with every step.

"What exactly did I do wrong, Molly? What?"

"Oh, you want me to tell you? Where should I start, the part where you chased my first date in a year off or the part where you insulted my nose?" Sherlock had taken off his coat and walked directly over to his book shelf, pulling a copy of religious texts down, mumbling to himself, his reaction was a bit delayed but volatile.

"I DID NOT INSULT YOUR NOSE!"

"You did, too."

"DAMN IT, MOLLY!" He lost his tempter and tossed the book across the room, breaking the orange floor lamp in the corner.

"Hey, now!" John very angrily demanded, shielding his baby, though no glass hit the couch.

"Oh, so we're breaking things now, are we?" Molly marched up to the mantel, grabbed the skull and walked back to the middle of the room before hurling at the mirror; shattering it.

"My skull!" The detective whined.

"Shove it up your ass, Sherlock."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I didn't stutter." The dark haired man continued to look shocked and perplexed. For a moment, the two just stared at each other and the guests, frankly, were enjoying the confusing holiday festivities. "I don't know what has gotten into you, Sherlock. When you first came back, it was great… but then,….you started being this huge dick again. It's not fair and its not right and you need to apologize to me and start treating me well again. I don't even understand what changed." Another paused. "When you came back, you were so sweet. You said things I never thought you would say to me… you appreciated me and you actually respected Tom, but then we broke up and you relapsed and…."

She stopped and let her mouth drop open. "You're trying to push me away."

"What?"

"No, you are… like a kid… a teenage boy who doesn't quite know what to do with the girl who sits in front of him in biology." Molly scoffed. "You're trying to get me to reject you because you're afraid. You're afraid to even try… aren't you?" She was searching his face, actually deducing him and Sherlock began to feel rather small… Was this what he did to people? Was this the whole point to him when he did it? Obviously… maybe… "Listen, Sherlock. You can't choose who you love or why, but I've always fought for you and I always will. This isn't something you rationalize. Thats the problem to you. You want to break it all down to chemicals, well, its not like that. You told me you hoped I'd be happy, what you didn't know is the day you said that was the one of best and saddest days of my adult life…. You made me happy that day, Sherlock." She stepped to him until they were toe to toe. "Whether I want to or not, and god I don't sometimes, I love you… unconditionally." Molly wrapped her hands up his neck and slowly began to pull his face down to hers. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes."

When their lips met, his were loose and didn't fight her when she parted them, he even gripped her hips a little bit with his fingertips. But, she only allowed their tongues to dance a few short moments before she pulled away, smiled and walked out of the flat without another word.

A stunned consulting detective stood in the middle of his flat, trying to ground himself, surrounded by an equally perplexed doctor and DI, but Mary just cast a knowing "I told you so" look at her husband.

"Drink?" He finally spoke, in a dry, cracking, higher pitched voice that didn't sound like his own. Greg merely nodded and passed him a tumbler of cognac, which he drank in a single gulp.


End file.
